Cattywampus
by outtabreath
Summary: Cattywampus: Southern US. Used to describe when something is knocked awry or askew. Bones/Gaila. Companion piece to Monogamy Rocks! Flenderson-verse.
1. Computer Trouble

I don't own Star Trek or the characters. I'm sure Daddy Gene would be horrified if he knew what I was letting his creations get up to (which means there will be sex and cursing. You have been warned).

Loads of love and thanks to my awesome (and awesomely talented) beta, miss steph (who said she likes reading my fics more than watching the movie!), and to the exceptionally talented women of Writers Anonymous: Doc, TFTSS, Kal, Nerdie, etc, and hopeful. I am truly blessed to have such an amazing support group!

This fic is a companion piece to Monogamy Rocks!

**~*~Cattywampus by outtabreath~*~**

_**Part One of Seven: Computer Trouble**_

"Chapel!" I hollered, glaring at the computer.

"You bellowed, Doctor?" she asked from the open door. She must've been passing by. She wouldn't move that quickly for something as unimportant as my needs.

"The damn computer is down again."

She smirked.

"What?" I demanded, wondering if it was worth the time it would take to report her for insubordination.

"That seems to be happening a lot lately, sir."

"I know," I growled. "Get a damn tech up here."

She very slowly crossed her arms in front of her chest and pressed her lips into a disdainful line.

"Please," I said, even though the word felt strange in my mouth.

I was definitely going to report her for insubordination. Just as soon as the hunk of metal that was supposed to make my life easier actually started doing its job.

Her lips reformed into the smirk. "I'll go do that right now, sir."

Ten minutes later, Chapel was back, her smirk rolling off her in waves. "The tech is here."

I didn't bother to look up from the 20th Century medical book I'd been half-heartedly studying while waiting. I knew who it was. I knew who it always was.

"Send Lieutenant Gaila in," I sighed, steeling myself.

I could get through this. I was an adult man with full control over my body and emotions.

"Aye, sir," Chapel said; it was obvious she was enjoying herself immensely.

"Hi Doc, having trouble again?" chirped a familiar voice.

I didn't need to look at her to know that she'd bounced in the door. It was what she did.

Chapel snickered; I tore my eyes away from the picture of a cancerous liver I'd been staring at to prepare myself for Gaila's arrival to give my head nurse a look that promised retribution.

She glanced at the tech, then at me and raised her eyebrows pointedly.

"Go _clean _something, Lieutenant Chapel," I snarled.

She smirked and shut the door.

"Can you _please_ fix this damn thing once and for all?" I asked, girding my loins and looking at Gaila.

She tipped her head. "Sure thing, Doc," she said, her voice chipper, her smile huge. Her ponytail swung over her shoulder and I traced its curve with my eyes.

She stepped next to me and I could, oh God, I could _smell_ her.

Obviously having to leave a whole fucking planet behind to get over a broken heart hadn't been enough to smarten me up. It seemed that I was now determined to lose the whole galaxy because of a bouncy girl.

"I'll do my best. Now, did you try to restart it?" she asked.

A bouncy girl who didn't seem to see me as much more than someone who was technologically dyslexic.

I glowered up at her; it was just easier that way. "Of course I tried to restart it. The damn thing won't restart – it won't do anything."

She patted my shoulder; her hand was extraordinarily warm. "Okay, Doc. I'll take care of it."

I slid away from the desk – away from the patting hand – and backed myself into a corner.

_Yep, you sure have, Len. _

"So, let's see what you did now," she said, lowering herself to the floor and crawling under the desk.

"I didn't do anything to it," I muttered, watching her, wishing desperately that I could look away. "The thing has a mind of its own."

"I know it seems that way, sir. But there's a very logical reason it stops working," she said, peering over her shoulder at me with eyes the color of the pond that had made my childhood Julys and Augusts bearable.

"What would that reason be?" I asked, breathing slowly and deeply, but trying not to look like I was.

She shrugged, which pulled her uniform skirt up a little higher. "It could be lots of things, all of them completely logical."

I directed my gaze at the carpet. "Can you just fix it? I need to update my patient files before we fly into another crisis."

Much like the one I was flying into at the moment.

"I'll be done in a second," she promised.

"Maybe I need a new computer," I prompted. "This is the eighth problem in the last two weeks. Maybe it just needs to be retired." I hazarded a glance at her.

"The computer is fine, Doc - it just needs a little TLC," she said, flipping onto her back, legs akimbo.

I forced my eyes to the ceiling; they were pissed at me.

"Thanks again for inviting me to play poker," she continued from the floor. "I do enjoy seeing Jim squirm as I take his money."

"So do I," I agreed. It was the highlight of my month – and not just because of Jim, though he was the reason I'd invited her in the first place; anything to remind him that he hadn't always been the big, important captain – it was just that she had ended up being a blast to be with: a crackerjack player, bright, funny, easy-going and a smartass in the bargain.

I glanced at her. She was back on her hands and knees in crawling and wiggling mode; the motion was hypnotic.

And sexy. She was incredibly sexy.

"Got it!" she shouted. The wiggling intensified as she backed out from under my desk and bounced to her feet – Gaila was _very _bouncy – and spun around.

I forced my eyes back to the carpet; they fought me hard.

"Come and try it, sir," she said invitingly.

I kept my ass in my chair and shuffled across the carpet, keeping my eyes focused on the kneehole of my desk – refusing to allow myself to remember that Gaila had been squirming under there mere seconds before.

"Turn it on," she prompted. "You know how to turn things on, dontcha sir?"

I gritted my teeth and ran my fingers over the array – the screen filled with light, then with the file I'd been working on before the computer had decided to die and bring temptation back through my door.

"Try pushing some buttons," she said, leaning over my shoulder.

"There aren't any buttons," I snapped, because she was very warm and very fragrant.

She giggled and her laughter brushed by my ear. "You know what I mean." She pointed with a single slim green finger to the rectangular-shaped interfaces that were used to input information.

I couldn't focus on anything but her warmth and her smell. Blindly, I mashed one of the buttons at random, then instantly regretted it. The data that had filled the screen disappeared.

"Uh oh," she perked, her breasts pushing into my shoulder as she leaned over to peer at the damage.

"Fix it!" I shouted, near hysteria on several fronts.

"I will. I can," she soothed. "Relax and let me take care of it."

"I thought you took care of it already."

"I did. You're the person that pushed the delete button; never, never push the delete button, Doctor McCoy. Bad things happen when you push that button." She used her hip to nudge my shoulder – which was much more pleasant than it should have been; I slid to the left. She bent over the interface, the curve of that same hip centimeters from my face.

I froze. If I just sat very still, I would be okay.

_Probably._

Her delicate and skillful fingers slid over the interface without a single hesitation. Within seconds the file was back on the screen.

"Okay, try it again," she said. "And do not hit the delete button. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"What did I just say?"

"Lieutenant, I'm not an idiot."

_Most of the time._

She sniffed, her eyebrows heading towards her forehead; I glared back at her.

"I'd feel a lot better if you repeat what I just said. You seem to have a lot of problems with computers."

"Just this one," I muttered.

"Because you push the delete button."

"Once, I pushed it once, one minute ago. I've never pushed it before today. I did not push it the other times the ridiculous thing decided to commit hari-kari. I'm not an idiot."

She sniffed again, but said, "No, of course you're not an idiot. Now try it again."

I blocked her out – which was more of a challenge than it should've been - and focused, skimming my fingers over several rectangles. The screen cheerfully informed me that the file had been updated.

"Good job, sir," she said from somewhere near my ear.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," I ground out. A man could only take so much.

"Now promise me you won't break the computer again."

"I didn't break it in the first place," I said sullenly.

She leaned even closer to me and the spicy sweet scent that I could never put a name to enveloped me. "I believe you," she said her voice low enough to be a whisper.

I blinked stupidly, the computer screen fading in and out of focus again. I really needed to have my eyes checked. My eyes and my sanity.

She straightened with a snap and a bounce. "Okay, Doc. Have a great day. And don't hit that button."

"I won't," I said, even though I wasn't one hundred percent sure what I'd just said I'd do. I turned to watch her leave, even though it was a mistake.

She moved to the door, every curve sliding in a maddening manner. The door slid open and she paused, half-turned and gave me a perky wave. "Remember what I said about that button."

I nodded.

"Call me if you need me."

_Need, want...._

Then she was gone.

I spun back to face my desk and glared at the computer. "This is your fault entirely," I snarled.

The computer merely hummed along, completely uncaring.


	2. Mess Hall

Warnings, disclaimers and thanks enumerated in Part One.

_**Part Two of Seven: Mess Hall**_

"But I do not dink you understand dat I feel wedy wedy strongly about dis," Chekov persisted; he was leaning forward, trying to convey the intensity of his argument.

"Pavel," I sighed, "I told you before, I can't do anything about it. Starfleet randomly assigns medical personnel to do the physicals on crew members. Lieutenant Christine Chapel is a wholly competent medical professional. You'll be fine."

The youngster leaned forward, intensity and anxiety arching off him. "But Doctor McCoy she is a _voman_."

"Biologically, yes," I said, equivocating. "But she's really not _like_ other women." Except for the fact that she could be extraordinarily like my ex-wife and a certain female shuttle attendant I'd met on my way to the Academy. And a few Vulcan women I could name.

She certainly wasn't like…Gaila…Gaila who would bounce into my office, her pony tail swinging, her laughter singing, her eyes gleaming….

_And that's enough of _that_, Leonard._

I pulled my attention back to the distraught boy.

"Vat if I become," his voice dwindled as pink suffused his face and he looked terribly, painfully young.

I softened my voice – the poor kid was obviously distressed. "Become what?"

"_Excited_," he whispered, his eyes darting around the room.

"Kid, don't you think we should talk about this in Sickbay?" I yelped - rather belatedly, sure, but I was a doctor not a fucking mind reader. I didn't know he was going to go _there_.

"No! She is dere, Doctor. She is always dere."

_Tell me about it, boy._

I ran my eyes around the room. No one seemed to be listening to our little tête-à-tête; might as well get it over with. "Believe me, you won't get excited with Chapel examining you - annoyed maybe, but definitely not excited."

Chekov dropped his eyes to the table and shifted. His skin was bright pink. "But she vill be touching me."

"Look, Pavel, Chapel's seen it all. She understands the Human male and their biology – she won't take it personally, and neither should you.

"That said, she's quick and clinical. You won't have a chance to think about anything except how cold her hands are. I swear."

The navigator's eyes were still stricken; I wondered if he was going to cry.

"Okay, here's a tip: think of horrible things – bitchy ex-wives, Russian winters…."

"Russian vinters are very beautiful, Doctor."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Then how you feel the day after you drink a bottle of vodka, the smell of a pig farm, anything that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes cross and there won't be any, uh, _movement_. Mind over matter, right? We are men Pavel and we control our urges, they don't control us."

He was silent for a long moment, then a slow smile spread across his face and his color started returning to normal. "I have it, Doctor!"

"Good for you," I said, trying to sound encouraging.

Chekov grinned, wholly relieved. "Dank you, Doctor. I feel much better now."

"Spectacular. Can I eat my dinner now?"

"Of course, Doctor. I am vedy sorry. Eat, eat."

Gumbo, or at least the replicator's version of it, sat in front of me. Tentatively, I took a taste, it was lukewarm. I really needed to start eating in my quarters.

I briefly debated going over to the replicator and getting something else, but figured that moving would draw attention – and patients – to me like flies to horseshit; best to eat what was in front of me and get the hell out.

The spoon was halfway to my mouth when Gaila bounced – why couldn't she ever just _walk_ somewhere?– into the mess hall wearing a skintight white jumpsuit that covered every inch of skin from chin to ankles but was still the sexiest thing I'd ever seen on a woman.

_I lied kid, men have no say over matters - we are all just slaves to our urges and to women who look like_ that_ – like mint juleps in the middle of a blazing August._

She fluffed her hair, because obviously I wasn't already crazed enough, then turned her head and caught me staring – my mouth most likely hanging open; she smiled happily and waved her fingers at me.

I returned the wave before I could stop myself.

Her smile widened and she began to sidle over; when Gaila wasn't bouncing she was sidling or shimmying - or _insinuating_ herself.

_Good God, man, pull yourself together._

She was glowing, I could see her pulse beneath her skin, the room was spinning around me.

_Maybe I'm having a stroke – it's just been a matter of time s__ince that first poker game._

She reached the table and bent down, resting her forearms on the table beside Chekov, who gulped audibly.

I wondered how long it would take me to patch the kid up if I tried to stab him with my spoon.

"Hi Doctor McCoy," she said. "How was _your_ day?"

"Fine," I replied, my voice tight. Her hair had been released from the ubiquitous low ponytail into a corona of crimson curls; I remembered acutely how it smelled.

_Southern sunlight and honeysuckle and bourbon and I have lost my mind._

"Your computer's been obeying you, right?" she asked, dragging a perfect fingernail painted in gleaming red in perfect circles on the tabletop.

"Yeah," I muttered, taking a spoonful of soup and choking it down, because I needed to do _something_ – and that was the least suicidal thing I could think of.

"Told you I'd fix it," she said. "I'm good with computers."

"I am good vith computers, doo," Pavel volunteered.

I glared at the curly-haired child.

"That's nice," Gaila said, gifting him with a blazing smile; Pavel beamed back at her, his Bambi eyes going all unfocused and melty.

I was going to fucking _unleash_ Chris on him. He was never going to be the same again.

She turned her attention back to me and my breath caught.

"You make sure you call me the next time there's a problem, Doctor McCoy."

"I wouldn't call anyone else," I said, trying to regain control of myself and only minimally succeeding.

"Happy to hear it," she said, and I would've sworn her eyes heated – because that seemed to be the kind of crazy I'd become.

My lips stretched uncomfortably.

I was smiling.

_Huh._

Her eyes dilated slightly and she definitely stared at my lips.

_Jocelyn screaming at me; that cutting tone in Jocelyn's voice when she congratulated me for joining Starfleet; Jocelyn telling me I fucked everything up just by _existing_. _

"I could help you vith your computer, Doctor," Chekov volunteered.

"_I_ fix the Doctor's computer," Gaila said, her tone brooking no argument. I'd never heard her speak like that.

She was sassy. I was a sucker for sassy.

It added yet another layer to the insanity that seemed to be my current state of being.

Gaila shot him what appeared to be a threatening look, underscoring her point; she turned back to me. "So, doc, I've been reading _To Kill a Mockingbird_."

I gazed at her stupidly.

She frowned slightly, "A classic of Southern literature."

"I've read it," I said.

"I'd love to talk to you about it sometime," she said.

My heart started fluttering and I tried to slow it down; it stubbornly refused to cooperate - just like the rest of me.

"Harper Lee was born in Russia," Chekov chimed in.

"She most certainly was not," I yelped.

Gaila shook her head pityingly and patted his arm again. "Oh, Pavel," she said. "Pavel, Pavel, Pavel. You are just too cute sometimes."

He grinned besottedly at her, but she was looking over his head - somewhere across the room – her eyebrows drawn together, her mouth pursed – a stormy expression stealing over her features.

I tried to see where she'd looked, but someone had blocked my view. She straightened, which set certain of her body parts into motion.

_Chapel glaring at me for absolutely no good reason; the Vulcan food the damn replicator kept churning out on our journey to New Vulcan; that Gorgon of a shuttle attendant telling me I couldn't hide in the safe windowless bathroom._

"I've got to go, Doc," she said, looking back at me. "But I'll see you soon."

_Maybe I'm not as repellant to beautiful young women as I think I am._

"And you," she continued, turning her devastating smile on Pavel and patting his curls idly, "You be good."

The kid's mouth dropped open.

My fingers tightened around the spoon and I told the Hippocratic Oath to go fuck itself.

She glanced at me once more, then spun around and bounced her way into the milling crowd.

"I dink I should not dink of her during my physical, sir," Pavel said, watching her.

"No, you definitely shouldn't," I responded. The kid shouldn't think of her when Chapel was touching him, just like I shouldn't be thinking of her at all.

_And how's_ that _working out for you, Len?_


	3. Office Visit

Warnings, disclaimers and thanks enumerated in Part One.

**_Part Three of Seven: Office Visit_**

It was too bad that Christine Chapel was a spectacular nurse and a fabulous officer because she was also a huge, hemorrhoidal pain in my ass.

"Just because you kept my Sickbay from burning to the ground…"

"We're on a starship, sir." She was still staring at my face, transfixed. Transfixed and judging.

"While I was down on that God forsaken rock doesn't mean you get to judge my beard."

Her eyes began rolling before she got herself under control - she ended up staring at a point halfway up the wall. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"I didn't have time to shave: things were _busy_ down there, and I needed to haul my ass up here the second I beamed on board to make sure you hadn't put up frilly curtains and velvet wallpaper."

"Now that you are assured that I didn't redecorate you can shave," she said.

"A man can do whatever he wants with his face," I pointed out. "It's one of the inalienable rights granted to us by our Creator." I flapped my hands at her. "Now go, I need to review reports."

"Your wish is my command."

"No, my _command _is your command."

She gave her most martyred sigh and rose from the chair opposite mine, looked pointedly at my face, then turned on her heel and strode out

_Hemorrhoidal._I grunted, then rolled my chair to a reflective surface so I could peer at my face: I looked damn good; and what was more, _Christine Chapel _knew I looked good. It was only her refusal to support me on _anything_ that prevented her from admitting it.

I ran my hand across the stubbly growth covering my jaw line, then up where I was training it into an arch encircling my mouth. Yep. It was growing in very nicely. Scruffy worked on me.

_Gaila will like it. _

I thought about her eyes taking in my face, the smell of her hair as she leaned forward, the press of her body against me as she….

I sighed.

Thirty-four, divorced, a doctor and I was _still_ as dumb as the day I'd discovered my dick.

_Get to work, Len. Get your brain off the beautiful young woman._

I opened the first report and my eyes instantly glazed over.

_I'm a doctor, not a paper-pusher._

I was out of the chair in the next second, moving restlessly towards the infirmary.

"I thought you were going to review reports," Chris said as soon as she saw me.

"I should be out here. Supervising. Doctoring."

_Not in my office figuring out how I can see Gaila_.

Her head swiveled, taking in the sparsely-populated Sickbay. "Of course. We need every pair of hands we can get."

I glowered at her and she smiled cheerfully. Any other person would've quailed at my patented scowl – but not Chapel; oh no, she seemed to derive _strength_ from it.

"I need to make sure the scanners are working," I mumbled. "It's just a matter of time before our fool captain gets us shot at again."

"And if they're down, I'll be happy to call for a computer tech," she chirped.

"You don't know as much as you think you know," I said to her.

"I don't know what you're inferring."

"Sure you don't," I mumbled, switching on scanners, displays and monitors while Christine shadowed me.

Everything was working perfectly.

_Damn it._

Then the door slid open and a male voice, a mite hysterical, said, "A little help."

I tensed and spun, ready to assess and treat.

Gaila was in my Sickbay and for once she wasn't bouncing, sidling, shimmying or insinuating herself. She was being supported by Uhura on one side and some young, barrel-chested Ensign on the other.

She was conscious and smiling. There wasn't any blood, burns or obvious maiming injury.

"She fell during volleyball," Uhura explained as she deposited Gaila on a bio bed and stepped back; the burly ensign was clinging to Gaila's hand and looking distraught.

I wanted to body slam him out of the way; I settled for growling, "You need to move. I need to be able to examine my patient."

The Ensign backed up a good five feet in the wake of my glare; Christine cleared her throat and I glanced at her – her smug satisfaction was palpable.

"I got this," I said. I turned on the display over Gaila's head and started to run my fingers over her scalp.

_Just in case._

"Of course you do," Chris said.

"Away," I said, trying to focus on my patient – the one draped on the bed, her curves stretched out, her hair spilling everywhere. It was only because I was a highly trained and competent physician that I barely noticed that she was wearing shorts that were way too short and a t-shirt two sizes too small for her; it was only because I'd lost my mind that I noticed her clothing at all.

"I'll be fine," I said, my eyes fastened on Gaila. She was leaning into my fingers.

"Me, too," Gaila said as I finished my assessment of her head. No bumps, no blood – just fragrant, glossy curls.

I cradled her face in my hands and started to look into her eyes – checking for papillary reaction. Her blue-gray eyes dilated nicely.

"She didn't hit her head," the boy said. "She _fell_."

Nyota snorted.

I spared them dunning glances. "There are five people in this room and only one of us is a doctor. Anyone wanna guess who knows what he or she is supposed to do in this situation?"

I froze Christine with a single look. If she raised her hand I'd have her cleaning bedpans for a solid month.

"I'll be in med-surg," she said. "_Cleaning_. Call if you need help…."

"I won't," I said.

Chris click-clacked away; the boy and Nyota were still hovering.

Gaila leaned her head slightly towards me. "I trust you implicitly, Doc. You can examine me as much as you need to."

Nyota snorted again. I ignored her, checking the scans. "So," I said, directing my attention to Gaila, "tell me what happened."

"I was playing volleyball and I jumped up to spike the ball – which I _did_, by the way. It was a pretty spectacular move – and when I came down, whoosh" she threw her hands out, grazing my chest in the process, "the next thing I know I'm on the floor.

"Nyota came to check on me and Topher volunteered to help me and Ny to Sickbay. And that's the whole story, promise, Doc." She traced an "X" over her heart.

It was adorable.

_I can't believe you just used the word adorable._

"You just crossed your heart," I said.

"Ny taught me," she said, smiling. "Because that's all that happened, really. Honest."

Uhura coughed slightly.

Gaila's head whipped around and the women stared at each other for several seconds. It was almost as if they were having a conversation.

"So, anyway, the right ankle's sore," Gaila finally said, looking back at me.

I nodded and ran my hand down her leg – checking for the possible broken bones the scan had already confirmed were absent.

Her skin was soft and supple, her muscles tight and toned beneath my fingertips.

_Copping a feel are we, Doctor?_

It was justifiable. The scans weren't always accurate. There was that .00001% chance they could've missed something my fingers wouldn't.

"Is she going to be okay?" asked Topher, and what an idiotic name _that_ was. He had drifted closer to Gaila and was trying to grab her hand; she was deftly avoiding his questing fingers.

I pressed my fingers into the area around her ankle, watching her face closely for signs of pain. "You play volleyball?" I asked, trying to make that fact fit into the picture of her in my head.

She winced slightly as my finger hit the lower edge of her ankle.

"There?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "to both questions."

"She's an exceptional player," Topher chimed in; he appeared to have given up trying to hold her hand. "Her serve is as deadly as a Klingon Bird-of-Prey, she tips the ball over the net as gentle as a mother with her newborn, and spikes the ball as hard as hail in January. She's fantastic."

"Oh, Topher," Gaila giggled.

_Enough._

I spun on the insufferable youngster. "What're you, a member of Starfleet or a damn poet? I need you out of here."

"What? Why?" he said, paling substantially.

"I need to be able to examine the Lieutenant without yammering."

The poor thing looked terrified, but he still had the balls to glance at Gaila.

"You better do what the Doctor says, Topher," Gaila said. "You, too, Ny, I'm in good hands."

"I'll be waiting outside to help you to your quarters," the Communications officer said. "Don't rush, okay? I'm not in a hurry."

"I would never hurry the doctor," Gaila said, smiling blazingly at me.

It was like a shock to my system every time she did it.

_Oh God, Len. How did you let this happen again? How did you let a woman fold herself into your heart and mind? How did you not see this coming? Why aren't you fighting it?_

Nyota grabbed Topher's arm and bodily dragged him out of the door. She weighed as much as a bushel of cotton, but she was able to maneuver the boy handily. It was damned impressive.

My last sight was of Topher's mutinous glare, then the door slid shut and I was alone with Gaila.

_Who is currently your patient._

"Okay give it to me straight, Doc. Is the foot coming off?" she asked.

"What? No. It's just a mild sprain," I said, alarmed, snapping my head to look at her.

Her eyes were shining – like when the sun hit the water of the swimming hole at mid-day – and she was smiling. I stared into her eyes and the world tipped around me; the feeling was shockingly familiar, even though it had been years – a decade, really – since I'd last felt it.

Not every woman was Jocelyn. How had I forgotten _that_?

"Why'd you throw poor Topher out? He was just trying to be supportive."

"He was ruining my concentration," I said.

"Oh," she said, her voice soft, her eyes huge.

I spun on my heel and strode over to the supply cabinet to retrieve a compression bandage and support. I needed distance, balance.

_They're gone, Len. Deal with it._

I took a deep breath and returned to her side. "So, do you really play volleyball like a Bird-of-Prey in January?" I asked, cradling her heel in my hand as I eased it onto the support.

"You were right, he _does_ think he's a poet," she said, "and yes, I'm exceptional at volleyball."

There was no overweening pride in her voice, she was stating a fact. I admired her for it. Not many people were able to talk about their talents without minimizing them, something I found annoying. If you were good at something, _own_ it.

"I'd like to see that," I murmured as I began to wrap her ankle.

"Anytime, Doctor McCoy," she replied.

I looked up at her; her eyes were fixed on my face. It took a good deal of effort to look away, back to her injury.

"I think it would be a good idea if you were at the next game. Just in case," she added.

"Just in case," I echoed, lowering her foot to the bio bed. I crossed my arms over my chest, and reminded myself that I was a _doctor_ for fuck's sake.

"Now you need to stay off this as much as possible for the next few days. Elevate and ice. Fifteen minutes on, fifteen minutes off."

"You're the doctor, Doctor," she smiled. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"I must say I'm in favor of the new look."

Told _you, Christine!_

"Thanks," I replied, my eyes caught by hers.

"If I knew you'd look like that I would've broken your razors."

I thought about that for a moment – the way that she said it, the inflection she'd placed on the word razors – and the piece slid into the puzzle and I got it.

Finally.

"Instead of my computer," I countered gently, leaning forward because her pull was irresistible.

She grinned, completely unabashed, and leaned forward, too. "Ooo, smart and cute. And it was only the last seven times. The first one was completely legitimate. You really do push the wrong button sometimes."

_Don't I know it. _

"Scruffy really does work on you," she said.

"Thanks," I breathed, my voice surprisingly soft and caressing. I'd forgotten that it could sound like that with anyone but Joanna.

The door slid open and I stumbled back; Gaila started playing with her ponytail.

Topher barreled in, Nyota close behind him.

"I want to take Gaila home," he said, his chest puffing up with indignation.

I looked at him pityingly. I was pretty sure he'd lost this competition.

Nyota and Gaila were looking at each other, obviously having another one of their feminine telepathic conversations.

"Is she ready Dr. McCoy?" Nyota asked even as Topher muscled Gaila off the bed.

I nodded, trying to regain some sense of balance.

It was probably going to take a while.

"If it starts to hurt more or you lose any functionality, call me right away. Or call Sickbay. Any of us can help," I said to Gaila.

"I'll call _you_," Gaila said, smiling over her shoulder as Topher helped her out of the room.

Nyota smiled sweetly at me. "Thanks, Doctor."

She followed Gaila and Topher out.

Christine reappeared with the closing of the door. "Perhaps I do know as much I think I know," she said.

I looked at her, my head still spinning, grunted and went to my office.

_Well, that was certainly_ something.


	4. House Call

Warnings, disclaimers and thanks enumerated in Part One.

_**Part Four of Seven: House Call**_

To my credit, I sat at my desk staring at my computer twenty whole minutes after Gaila left my Sickbay before I bolted to my feet, determined to go see her.

As her physician.

I strode out of my office and ran into Christine; she bounced me back three steps.

"Are you leaving?" she demanded.

"I have to attend to something, Lieutenant."

She waved a PADD in my face. "While I know that sprained ankles can develop serious complications if you don't keep an eye on them, you need to review reports."

"I can do it tomorrow."

She was immovable. "You've been gone for three days. You need to do it _now."_

I glared; she glared right back.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll do it." I stomped back into my office and threw myself into my chair only to find that she'd followed me in; she plopped down in the chair in front of my desk.

I really needed to get rid of the damned thing; people always wanted to sit and talk to me.

Or force me to do paperwork.

"I don't need you to chaperone me."

"Oh, but I do," she sighed and it was just like one of Jocelyn's sighs – it told me that she thought I really was too stupid to be alive.

Yesterday I might have agreed with her, but that was then and it was _now_ and _now_ was a different kettle of fish entirely.

I scanned through reports.

"How's Ensign Brooks' arm?" I asked. When would the children learn that having sex in a Jefferies tube was not advisable unless you'd trained as a gymnast?

"Healing more quickly than his self-respect," Chris replied.

"And Chekov's physical?"

"Perfectly and completely routine, Sir. The Ensign is in complete health. He's fine."

I gave her the fish-eye; she gave me the blank expression.

I tried to decide if it was going to be worth the ten minutes of banter and threats it'd take before I'd even _hope_ to weasel any information out of her.

_It wasn't. I had other plans for that time_. Big _plans._

Besides, Pavel would tell me himself eventually.

"Just tell me you went easy on the boy," I sighed.

"I always go easy on _boys_," she said, her head bent over her PADD, her fingers busily sliding, "Did you read my report on Ensign Harper's surgery?"

"I did," I said. "You did a good job. In fact, you handled the Sickbay admirably in my absence. Your reports are thorough and comprehensive. Well done." I stood.

"We're not done," she protested.

"Wanna talk about Pavel's exam?" I asked menacingly.

"Oh look. We _are_ done," she said, placing her PADD in her lap dutifully.

"Thought so." I smiled cheerfully at her and headed to the door; she cleared her throat.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" I asked; the door was sliding open on the people milling about the Sickbay.

She looked over her shoulder at me. "Have a good evening, Doctor."

I was planning on it.

"You, too," I said. I felt like whistling.

I walked slowly to Gaila's quarters, even though my body wanted to run, to speed, to _race_.

_You're a senior officer, man,_ act _like one._

I nodded to people as I passed them – just the CMO going for a walk…to see the woman who carbonated his hormones.

Deck 9. Room 8B 25.

_Gaila._

I rang the chime and was admitted without having to identify myself.

Her quarters were pristine – shining like they did the day the _Enterprise_ had come out of the box. The furniture was regulation – identical to the stuff in my quarters – but there were pictures on the walls – prints of Earth pictures – I recognized a Monet – and what I guessed were Orion pieces.

She was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and was curled up on her regulation couch, winding a curl around her finger and staring at her PADD.

"Lieutenant, do you always open your door without finding out who's on the other side of it?"

She jumped and the PADD slipped out of her fingers and hit the floor. I had to restrain myself from running over to pick it up for her.

"Doctor! Oh! I thought you were someone else."

"Topher?" I said before I could bite it back.

_Get it the fuck together, Len._

Her smile was warm, and far more than I deserved considering what a moron I was. "No," she said, drawing the word out, "The captain of my team. _Jane._"

Jane was a woman's name.

I took a deep breath, and announced, "I'm here to check on your ankle." I narrowed my eyes. "The one you're sitting on."

Her eyes dilated – I guessed it was the Orion version of blushing.

"It's feeling so much better, sir." She shifted, extending her legs out. "I think you cured me fully."

"Yeah, I'm a damn miracle worker," I grumbled. "I take it you have full mobility."

She dropped her feet to the floor and nodded slowly.

"Are you experiencing any pain when you walk on it?"

She shook her head.

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Were you really injured?" Sprains were one of those hinky injuries – you had to rely on the patient's report instead of the computer's, which meant they were easy to fake.

"I did come down hard on my ankle," she said, "And Ny and Topher were worried and Ny doesn't really take no for an answer."

"Cross your heart?" I asked.

She tipped her head and had the temerity to look abashed.

I stared at her.

"I'm sorry, Doctor McCoy," she said, her words running together. "Really, I mean it. I know that faking an injury wasn't okay – even though I really did come down hard on the ankle and it really did sting, so I wasn't completely faking - It's just that I really did want to see you again and I figured…."

"That my computer needed a break?"

She smiled. "I feel bad about that, too. I felt bad every time I did it. Poor little computer - it didn't deserve half the horrible stuff I did to it."

"You could've just visited me."

She stared at me like the thought had never occurred to her.

"People do it all the time – they march right into my office and plop down and chew my ear off for hours on end. They hunt me down at dinner, in the gym, when I'm trying to hide out on the bridge – I swear if they could figure out a way to get into my quarters, they'd come in when I was trying to take a shower.

"The entire fucking ship thinks it can parade into my office every time they have a thought to share with me and you, someone I actually _want_ to see, think you need to break my computer or fake an injury to see me." I shook my head.

_People._

She smiled and my heart lurched, my body warmed with the heat of it.

"Would you please come over here?" She tapped her finger onto the couch about a millimeter from her ass.

I dropped my arms and walked over, settling down next to her. I slid my fingers through hers and tightened. She sighed, a sexy, happy sound – yet another thing to add to the catalog of All Things Gaila I was compiling in my head.

"I'm happy you came to check on me," she whispered.

I met her eyes, then pressed my lips into her hair; she leaned into me. I took a deep breath and pulled away. Her luminous eyes were boring into mine.

I leaned in to take her mouth, but Gaila turned her head, flipping curly hair into my mouth.

I took a deep breath and got myself under control. "So," I said, looking around her quarters. "I think these are cleaner than Sickbay."

"Order is necessary to live in civilization," she said. "It keeps you sane, makes you younger and gives you good skin." She sighed contentedly. "It's so nice having my own space; Nyota was a great roommate – the best – but she is not clean." She fastened her eyes on me. "Are you clean, Doctor McCoy, or are you dirty?"

I dropped my voice an octave, and lowered my eyes. "I can be dirty when called for."

"Well that's not going to work," she said briskly, ignoring my heretofore very successful sexy voice/look combo.

"Dirty isn't good at all," she was continuing. "You're a doctor, you should know better. Cleanliness is the most important part of medicine."

"No, it's not – _medicine_ is the most important part of medicine," I said, defending my career instinctively.

She shook her head sorrowfully. "You have so much to learn Doctor McCoy."

"I know plenty," I protested. "And please call me Len."

"I don't have to call you Bones?"

"God no."

"Good," she said. "I don't think it's a good nickname. I mean I call Nyota 'Ny' or 'Otie' or 'The Shoe Killer' and Commander Spock is 'the tower of Vulcan hotness,' but those are _good _nicknames."

I chuckled.

"And of course, I call Jim…_Captain_. I call him Captain," she said, her eyes becoming a mite shifty.

"Of course you do."

"To his face," she said cheerfully. "Is it because you have a big one?"

"_What?_"

"Your nickname, is it because you have a big one?"

"Big one?"

"Bone."

Laughter ripped out of my throat. "No. The _Captain_ gave me that nickname."

"Because he saw you naked?"

"God, no!"

"Then why? Bones is a weird nickname."

_And here's where you scare off the beautiful woman with your emotional baggage._

"Because when I first met him I told him all I had left were my bones and flesh and he extrapolated from there like only Jim Kirk can."

She thought that over for a moment and I steeled myself for her inevitable question.

Instead, she surprised me again. "So he went with Bones because Flesh would be a really weird nickname."

"Yes, it would be."

"But evocative," she said, "_Flesh_."

A flash of heat erupted across my skin.

"So why did you only have your bones and flesh left?"

I blinked, momentarily confounded by the sudden switch in direction; it made me answer far more truthfully than I would have if I'd been better prepared.

And if she hadn't just said the word "flesh."

"My divorce sucked."

She nodded. "Aren't they kind of supposed to? I mean, if people were happy they wouldn't get divorced in the first place – so you go into this horrible process already pissed off and miserable, how could it not suck?"

"You have a point."

"I usually do," she smiled. "Good points – well thought out and lucid arguments."

"You seem to know a lot about divorce."

"I read," she said.

"_To Kill a Mockingbird_," I prompted.

She smoothed her free hand down the front of her thigh. I watched the motion raptly.

I really was done. Finished. Like a catfish dinner seven minutes after it was served.

"It was pretty good," she said. "Was it really like that? Growing up in the South?"

"It was written three centuries ago, but she captured how the South moved," I said. "How it _still _moves – will probably _always _move: Slower, more deliberate. Languid. I think you'd like it there."

Her eyes were huge, her breathing rapid. I leaned forward.

She shifted away from me again. "I liked Charlaine Harris better."

"Who?" I asked.

The situation was getting desperate. I really wanted to taste her.

"The Southern Vampire mysteries?"

I shook my head helplessly.

"Those are my kind of books – even though I don't like the blood sucking thing. I'm so not into that – but I do like the hot men, mind reading, and the sex."

"Do tell," I said, looking at her lips, wondering if she tasted like she smelled – of sweet things.

Her eyes dilated and I tucked an errant strand of hair behind her left ear.

"Len?" she said softly, her lips forming the word with honey and whiskey, instantly intoxicating and addictive.

"Yes?" I said. I was transfixed by her mouth. The second she closed it I was going to kiss it.

"Len, are you willing to try something new?"

"Always," I whispered. "Remember, I can be dirty if needed."

She leaned forwarded, invading my personal space and severely testing my willpower. "I propose we try a new experience – one that we can share. It's a brand-new day, Len."

I stared at her, drowning in her eyes, envisioning lots of new things to try with her.

"Name it darlin'."

"We should go dancing," she pronounced, leaning back; I fought the desire to grab her back. "Friday. What do you say?"

"With people?" I said, all thoughts of kissing her flying out of my head. The image of watching her moving sinuously to pounding music was very appealing; the image of her doing it while we were surrounded by dozens of people was not.

"Of course with people."

"We could stay in," I said. "Here or my quarters. There are lots of new things we can do just the two of us."

Her eyebrows drew together and I traced the line with my index finger. She leaned her head into me for a second before she muttered what sounded like "Nyota" and something in what I figured to be Orion. She jerked her head back, and said firmly, "It's not time yet."

"It's not?" I started to trace her lips with my fingers.

She turned her head and shook it very definitively. "No. We need to go dancing first."

"On Friday," I said. "The Friday that's four days away."

She nodded enthusiastically.

I didn't want to go four days without seeing her. It was bad enough being away from her for three days on a planet with every second accounted for with nothing said, nothing confirmed. The idea of having come to this point and not seeing her for four days was enough to make me feel more than a little desperate.

"And whatever will we do for the next four days?" I prompted.

"Go to lunch together," she said brightly.

"In public," I said.

"Of course in public, sugar."

_Sugar?_

"Did you just call me 'sugar?'"

"Don't you like it?"

"Of course I like it," I said quickly.

"It's Southern," she said. "The language of your youth."

_Ah._

"That it is," I said, sliding my fingers over her ears; she rewarded me with a breathy gasp. "My native _tongue_."

Her gaze drifted to my mouth and she leaned forward minutely.

_Oh thank God, His angels and all the saints in Heaven._

"No!" she yelped – her mouth so close to mine I could taste her breath; she leaned away from my lips and fingers. "You have magnets in your lips. It's not fair."

I wasn't the only one with magnetic lips.

"When did I say I played fair?" I pointed out – letting her keep her distance just the same, even though every fiber of my being and body was utterly pissed at me for doing it.

"But you will," she said. "Because that's the kind of man you are."

_I'll let you go on thinking that, sweetheart._

"Lunch it is," I said.

I could work with food. Even in public.

She beamed and I knew I'd made the right choice.

Even though it was probably going to kill me.


	5. Dance Party

Warnings, disclaimers and thanks enumerated in Part One.

_**Part Five of Seven: Dance Party**_

She was trying to kill me. Jocelyn had put her up to it somehow and this whole week - and all the weeks before - was just one big involved plot to make me go into cardiac arrest and die.

"Well?" she asked again, spinning.

Holy Lord. The spinning.

I blinked stupidly and tried to remember how to make my tongue do something other than hang out of my mouth.

She was wearing a…I guess you'd call it a dress…with cutouts. Fucking cutouts. At her wrists, her stomach, the nape of her neck, between her breasts. Holy God.

"Len," she prompted, waving a hand in my face. "You in there?"

_In there? I should be in _her.

I groaned.

Wasn't it bad enough that the girl had spent the last four days sucking and squeaking and slurping and sighing her way through every lunch, leaving me so aching and hard that the idea of taking her on the floor of a crowded mess hall no longer seemed crazy?

Wasn't it bad enough that the second I readied to launch myself at her she'd balance her chin in her palm and talk about volleyball or music or Joanna or Orion or the South and I'd be completely disarmed and the lust would fade into respect, admiration and tender protectiveness?

_Guess not, Len._

Now she needed to wear that fucking dress and _spin_ in it – flaring her hair out and filling my nose with her scent – and expect me to go dancing with her. In public.

I was going to die. I was going to have a fucking heart attack and die and Jocelyn would be very happy.

"Are you okay?" she demanded. "Blink once if you need me to call Christine."

That did it. No way, no how was Christine Chapel going to be within a hundred meters of me tonight.

I grabbed her hips and pulled her into my aching body. I saw her extraordinary eyes, closer than they'd ever been and wide enough to swallow the galaxy whole.

"You look fucking amazing, Gaila," I said, sliding a thumb onto her carotid pulse point. It slammed at me.

This was going very well.

"Beautiful," I said, softening my tone as I slid my free hand up her spine and over one maddeningly soft and hot section of skin then another before my fingers twined in her hair and cradled the back of her head. I exerted pressure and pulled her head to mine, finally claimed her mouth.

Oh God, her taste. Smooth and rough – it burned like the most potent Romulan ale; my blood boiled, tongue probed.

I needed more.

My fingers tightened in her hair, pressed into the skin of her neck. Her pulse sped up, astoundingly fast.

And, just as I was ready to claim victory, claim her, she wrenched back from me.

Stunned, I looked at her.

"We have to go right now," she said.

"We don't need to go anywhere darlin'," I corrected her; I pressed my fingers into her scalp.

"Yes. We. Do," she said, leaning back, leaning into my fingers. "Nyota's expecting me. She and The Commander are waiting for us."

The Vulcan was going dancing? Maybe that kiss had scrambled my hearing as well as my wits.

The thought surprised me enough to loosen my grip on her. She stumbled backwards.

"_Spock's_ going?" I demanded, because that seemed to be the only thought my brain could catch hold of at the moment.

"Of course," she said, walking to the door. I noticed that her gait was a little unsteady.

_That's what you get for torturing me for weeks and weeks._

Of course, I wasn't completely steady on my own feet either.

How did it always end up that I was barely able to function around her?

She slapped the pad beside the door and it slid open.

"Oh thank Oekon," she murmured before turning to me.

I folded my arms across my chest, making sure to flex my arms a little. This was a desperate situation and I was willing to try desperate measures. "We really don't have to go."

"Magnets," she said. "The magnets don't work in public." Then she strode into the hallway.

_Oh yes they do, sweetheart_.

I followed her out.

Ten minutes later, we were in a rec room – a dark, very loud, rather crowded rec room.

Gaila made a beeline for Nyota and I followed in her wake, ending up standing next to Spock.

Fanfuckingtastic, Gaila and Nyota were in a corner, heads together having some sort of confab and I was left with the Vulcan.

"Spock," I said, nodding at the man.

"Doctor McCoy," he replied.

I watched Gaila – what I could see of her seeing as she was mostly blocked by Uhura's body - and thought about the brain-scrambling kiss.

Yep. She could kiss.

Really, really kiss.

I couldn't keep my eyes off of her.

_I'm fucking crazy about this woman._

Spock cleared his throat. It was a familiar sound – as familiar, and about as welcome as Christine's voice ordering me around; "Yes, Spock," I prompted.

"They share a most extraordinary friendship," Spock said, his eyes still fastened on his woman and…my woman.

Yep. Pretty sure she was mine. Or was going to be.

Just like I was going to be hers.

Was pretty much already hers.

"I can see that."

"They spend a good deal of time together discussing." He took a deep breath. "I am not entirely certain what they discuss, but it appears to hold great importance for both Nyota and Lieutenant Gaila."

Was Spock asking me about women?

Had he suffered some brain injury or been infected by some flying alien bug creature without me being told?

It would be just like Chapel to keep good news from me.

I tore my eyes away from Gaila to regard him. He didn't look like he'd been recently concussed, didn't appear to be suffering from any major medical event. He seemed…curious.

_Guess he really is asking me._

The universe really had gone all cattywampus.

"They call it girl talk," I pointed out.

He took a deep breath – which seemed to make him grow even taller; a damn dirty Vulcan trick he employed all the time – and said, "How can _all _of the discussions center on topics of interest only to females?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. But they seem to be able to do it. I've heard they talk about hair products and shoes, clothes and music."

"I have an interest in music," he interrupted.

"It's still not the same. They talk about how the singer's pants fit and how the music makes them _feel_."

His eyebrow arched up. "I see. I would be unable to contribute to such a conversation. Please continue."

"That's all I really know," I conceded. "They don't really share with non-females."

"It is most curious," he said.

_Curious_. That was as good a way as any to describe The Mystery That Was Female Friendships.

Gaila shifted around and I could see her fully again. See the dress.

Hot damn she was something.

Spock tensed beside me and I glanced at him. He was staring at her.

He. Was Staring. At. Her.

I began to calculate how much damage I could inflict on him before he knocked me out with that Vulcan neck pinch thingy.

Probably nowhere near enough to teach him a lesson.

"Ready to boogie?" Gaila asked. She'd snuck up on me while I was contemplating Vulcan-cide.

"Boogie?" I asked, battening down the jealousy. And the stupidity

"Twentieth Century slang for dancing. Seriously, _what_ did they teach you in those Earth schools?"

"Lots of things," I murmured. "Lots and lots of things."

She giggled and tugged my hand. I went with her, sparing a glance for Spock and Uhura.

Uhura looked pissed.

Guess I wasn't the only one to notice Spock noticing Gaila.

I was very, very happy I wasn't him.

For lots and lots of reasons.

Gaila dragged me to the dance floor and started moving. Not surprisingly, Gaila's inherent bounciness lent itself to dancing. She careened herself around and I tried to keep up, then just tried not to pass out.

"You're a great dancer!" she lied as she swiveled her hips and swung her hair in huge arcs.

I panted and nodded and wondered how long Christine would mock me if she had to resuscitate me.

I was thinking forever.

Gaila slid closer to me and bumped her hip with mine; she was incandescent – glowing.

_This is what she'll look like when we make love._

I almost fell over. I hadn't thought of that particular act as anything more than sex since….

_For a very, very long time._

My eyes slid to the corner where we'd left Spock and Uhura; he was standing still and she was dancing around him.

_Didn't know that was an option._

Chekov went hurtling by, his face a little more red than usual - but otherwise his normal, exuberant self.

_Damned youth._

The music slowed down and Gaila folded herself into my arms; she fit there in a way that was equal parts exciting and terrifying.

"Are you having a good time?" she asked.

"Mmmhmm," I said into hair.

"This is a new experience for you, right?"

I pulled back and looked at her. "I haven't been dancing since…."

My wedding.

Unless you counted dodging crockery, utensils and PADDS.

"For a long time," I said. "And this is far more enjoyable than the last time."

She smiled happily and I leaned forward, crazily eager to taste her again.

Her eyes fastened on my lips and she breathed out in quick pants. I could taste her sweetness.

"Gaila," I said.

"Are you done with this new experience?" she asked.

I liked the way she said _this new experience_; gave me hope there might be another new experience soon.

I nodded and she pulled at me in response, leading me out of the rec room and, hallelujah and hosanna, into the virtually empty corridors.

She led and I followed; she'd turn from time to time and smile at me.

_Yes. Yes. Holy fucking shit yes. A thousand times yes._

I kept walking, refusing to give into the urge to just throw her over my shoulder and careen through the corridors.

_Your knees would never make it, Len. Best to just keep walking._

She opened the door to her quarters, turned and grasped my free hand and pulled me inside.

_And away we go._

I cradled her jaw in my palms and pushed her head back, bending so I could follow the soft skin of her chin and throat with my nose.

She quivered. Truly and wholly _quivered._

She murmured in Orion and she pressed into me.

Never underestimate the power of patience.

And a damn good neck/nose nuzzle.

"I have to tell you something," she said.

"Anything," I said, making sure my voice was low and silky.

"You need to look at me."

I followed the line of her jaw with my nose, brushed over her lips, and rubbed her nose with mine. When I was done, I looked at her – focused on her face.

And realized that she looked petrified.

"What is it?" I demanded.

"I…I…I am…," she took a deep breath and started shaking. "Oh fuck, I can't. I'm sorry, I can't. I just can't and until I can, I can't. Do you understand?"

"Not even a little bit."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "You're just so wonderful and patient."

_Patient? What the hell? I didn't want to be_ patient, _I wanted to be _hers.

"And I'm really, really sorry," she was continuing, "You have _no_ idea how sorry I really, really am."

I took a step back and rubbed my hand over my eyes, fighting for self-control.

She put her warm hand against my face and I turned my lips to it – lapped her palm with my tongue, hard and pointy.

I wouldn't force her, but I sure as hell wouldn't be a saint. I wasn't going to make this easy.

Her breath caught and her fingers curled against my cheek, her red nails pressed against the skin. "That's not fair."

"I told you, Gaila, I wasn't going to play fair," I whispered, my lips transmitting the words to her skin.

Her nails pressed harder, a delicious feeling that stirred my blood and groin, that left me wanting them pressing into the skin of my back – marking me as I took her.

"Damn, damn, fuck and damn," she said. "I can't believe this."

"Can't believe what?'

"Me," she said, shaking her head. "I'm just not ready and it can't be time until I'm ready."

"How can I help you be ready?" I asked, using my tongue to draw tight circles on her skin.

She whimpered and pushed me back towards the door. "There's nothing you can do," she sighed. "I'm sorry, Len."

She was distressed and I didn't like it – what was worse, I couldn't understand; I gave up the seduction attempt and cradled her face in my hands. "Don't apologize for being yourself," I said. It seemed to be the best thing to say.

She closed her eyes and exhaled. When she looked at me again, she looked more relaxed.

_Good job, Len._

"Take me to lunch tomorrow?" she asked, fumbling for the pad beside the door. Her fingers made contact and the door slid open.

"Certainly."

She smiled and leaned forward, brushing her lips over mine. "Good night, Len."

"Night," I said as she pushed me out and the door slid shut.

I stood in the hall for a long moment telling myself that I was _not_ going to push the chime - she wanted to wait – though God only knew _why_ – so I would wait.

I just hoped we wouldn't have to wait much longer.


	6. Coffee Klatch

Warnings, disclaimers and thanks enumerated in Part One.

This chapter refers to the events of TalesFromTheSpockSide's hilarious _Gaila's Revenge_ (story id 5616641) and is used with her gracious permission. If you haven't read her stuff (or haven't read it lately), do yourself a favor and get over to her author's page and start perusing. You'll thank me!

_**Six of Seven: Coffee Klatch**_

My chime started ringing at 0734 and didn't stop. I stumbled into my living room, pretty sure that I wasn't going to find a beautiful Orion standing at the door ready to offer herself to me.

"I hate it when I'm right," I muttered as the door slid open and my captain sauntered into my quarters; he was bearing coffee, which was the only thing that kept him alive.

"Aren't you always right?" he asked, handing me a cup. "Guess that's why you're so miserable all the time." He held up a single finger. "I must amend that – guess that's why you _used_ to be miserable all the time. You are quite chipper now, aren't ya'? There are rumors that you've been seen smiling and laughing."

I rolled my eyes at him and took a swallow of the swill; it was hot and black, just the way I needed it.

"Who knew, Bones?"

I glared at him around the coffee cup. "Who knew what?"

"That change can come to even the most bitter, heartbroken, pissy Southern doctor ever commissioned by Starfleet.

I swallowed back the grin that threatened to split my face.

"In fact," he said musingly, "there have been lots of changes on my ship lately, haven't there?"

He sat down on my couch and stretched his legs out.

I wondered how long I'd be stuck in the brig if I kicked him.

And if he'd let Gaila visit me.

_A conjugal visit might be fun._

"Are you here as my captain or as my friend?" I asked.

"Both," he said. "For God's sake, Bones, sit down. You look like you're going to topple."

I leaned my back against the wall and sipped my coffee.

He sighed and sipped his own. "Suit yourself."

"I usually do."

"Ah, that brings me to the point of my visit."

"I knew we'd get there eventually."

He shook his head. "As your _captain_," he smacked his lips on the word; relishing it – the power it gave him over me, "I've come to discuss the reports that I've received from certain parties that you and Lieutenant Gaila were observed dancing, and I quote, with wild abandon, last night."

_This is why I enjoy stabbing you in the neck with hypos, Jim._

"Are you here to confirm the reports?"

He grinned, "Don't need to do that, the certain parties are very reliable. No, I'm here to talk to you about Starfleet regulations."

I quirked an eyebrow and let him continue.

"As you know, Lieutenant Gaila is not under your command and, therefore, there are no regulations barring you from dancing wildly or with abandon – or doing anything else your twisted little heart desires - with her.

"Further, if you and she do decide to pursue a non-professional relationship, I will leave it to you as a physician bound by the Hippocratic Oath and the ethical rules of your profession to insure that if she is in need of medical attention that someone other than you will treat her."

He really could be an asshole.

"Now, as your friend, I say congratulations. She's a great woman; really and truly, one of the premiere women of the galaxy." His tone was even; he was being serious.

"I know that."

He nodded, "I did a bad thing to her at the Academy."

"For which I would kick your ass if she hadn't turned your dick green," I said.

He laughed and shook his head ruefully. "That was a scary couple of days, definitely. Good thing I had a supportive doctor roommate to get me through. If it weren't for you I might've done something really stupid."

I rolled my eyes in response and shifted. My legs were sore, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me sit down like the tired old man I was.

"Don't be like that," he said.

I wasn't sure what he was referring to and told him so.

"Like me," he clarified. "She really seems different with you, Len. Don't break her heart just as she realizes she has one."

"I won't," I said, and I really meant it. I wanted to build something with her; and as stupid and crazy as that thought was, it was the God's honest truth.

"You happy?"

I nodded, straightening and finishing off my coffee; I walked over to the table and put the empty cup down, then gave up and sat myself down.

"Wow, you're happy," Jim said. "And I had May fifth in the pool, too." He sighed dramatically and slid his right foot onto his left knee.

"What the hell are you talking about, Jim?"

"We all figured that Chapel is going to reach her limit one day and try to eviscerate you with a scalpel. Sulu was pretty pissed that it didn't happen last week, but Scotty let him pick a new date. He's good like that."

"Just wait until Scotty gets a new shipment of Romulan ale," I grumbled. "He can suffer through the two-day hangover on his own."

Kirk grinned, his widest, most shit-eating grin. "That's the spirit, Bones! The fact that you can contemplate ways of torturing your fellow man even in the middle of a love fest with the exquisite Gaila shows me that you're as pissy as ever. Christine is going to stab you one day, I just know it." He raised his coffee cup in a mock salute.

"Shouldn't you try to prevent the murder of your CMO?" I questioned.

"She wouldn't murder you, Bones - just fuck you up."

"Shouldn't you try to prevent your CMO being fucked up by his head nurse?" I amended.

He shrugged. "Only after May fifth."

"Chapel is my biggest fan," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "The woman worships the ground I walk on."

"Sure she does, buddy. I can see it in her disdain and icy stares."

"Our relationship is a work in progress," I pointed out.

He snorted and stood. "So this was fun, Bones."

I pulled myself to my feet and said, "As always."

He walked over and clapped me on the shoulder; I refused to buckle, even though my knees were toast. "Leonard H. for a _hell_ of a guy McCoy, you keep up the good work. Got it?"

"Got it, Captain Kirk."

He smiled and headed to the door. It obediently opened for him, but he paused in the doorway. "One more thing, Bones."

"Jim?"

"Remember. May fifth. If you can get stabbed, I'll split the money with you," he motioned to himself, "sixty," then to me, "forty."

"Out," I said. My evisceration was only worth forty percent. Nice.

"You could buy Gaila something pretty with it."

"Out!" I thundered even as I grinned.

"Think about it," he said, backing out the door. "Fifty-fifty."

The door slid shut in his face.


	7. It's Time

Warnings, disclaimers and thanks enumerated in Part One.

A/N 1: Both Kelly Flenderson, Psy.D. and I love _Twilight_; any comments about the books are made with nothing but love and in the interest of humor. (I also firmly believe that, one day, _Midnight Sun_ will be sitting next to the other four books on my bookshelf).

Team Edward; Team Taylor's Chest.

A/N 2: Sorry for the delay of the end of this story – the Olympics have been particularly distracting this year; in related news, the last two chapters of Monogamy Rocks! will also be delayed.

A/N 3: Eternal thanks go to my friend and beta, miss steph, and to the exceptional ladies of Writers Anonymous: Spockside, ETC, SS, Tea Oli, Aqua, Doc, nerdie, hopeful and kal.

_**Part Seven of Seven: It's Time**_

_Meet her needs first._

It was a lesson I'd learned from my father and grandfather; one of the many that a man needed to be A McCoy and, by extension, A Proper Southern Gentleman; those immutable expectations that had stood the test of centuries and change: Woo a woman with patience and soft touches; respect your elders without fail; learn how to manage your bourbon; always be the last man standing; respect women - they'll be mothers and grandmothers someday; always wear a hat in the summer sun; tell the truth; meet her needs first.

Sometimes I wished that I'd been born in Iowa.

"Things got much more fun when the werewolf started narrating, because he's not as prissy as Bella and every other word wasn't about how Edward was perfect and beautiful and like marble," she continued as we walked the corridors between the mess and her quarters.

Lunch had been about the first two books – though it appeared the first two books were the same story, just from different points of view - and dinner about the last three; Gaila had barely stopped speaking and I had just watched her, watched her eyes and lips, had memorized the shape of her ears and nose and jaw.

_Woo a woman with patience and soft touches. And listen to her as she talks about books you'll _never, never _read._

"Then the baby is _finally_ born in a completely disgusting birth scene that further reinforced that I _never_ want to have children – at least not half-vampire/half-Orion children."

And then I could only think of light green babies with auburn hair and blue-gray eyes and Joanna's nose. _My_ nose.

_You're gone, McCoy. Done, gone, never to rise again. Just like the Confederacy._

It was pathetic – but a whole hell of a lot better than thinking about drinking blood and the associated health risks.

"I made it through the birth scene only to get to the part where Jacob imprints on the baby and I almost gave up with _that_ – but I figured I'd already read ten thousand pages…."

"Ten thousand?" I asked into silence as she took a rare breath.

"Thereabouts. And despite there not being any sex _at all-."_

I knew how the books felt.

She opened her door and I followed her into her quarters. "I wanted to know what was going to happen and make sure Bella and Edward were going to be okay, which, of course, they were because Bella discovered that she was the best vampire of all and they lived happily ever after."

_The End._

"I thought you didn't like vampire books," I noted.

"They weren't really _vampire_ books," she said. "The only person that drank blood was the baby."

I looked at her for a long moment.

Nope. She wasn't kidding.

"Why did you read them again?"

She shuffled her feet and dropped her eyes and mumbled something about a friend recommending them – then she began to swing from heel to toe.

It was the worst kind of torture imaginable.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

_Patience, Leonard H. McCoy._

"The no-sex thing _was _disheartening – but I liked the romance," she said and I perked right up.

_Was that an opening?_

_Please let her have meant it as an opening._

"I agree with you on all points," I said, quirking an eyebrow at her. The eyebrow was like catnip and it never failed.

_Please don't let it fail this time_.

She smiled. "You agree that they weren't really vampire books?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to look imposing; I was pretty sure I failed miserably. "I don't read books in which the main characters don't have the good fortune to be born Southern."

She giggled. "So you're referring to my points about sex and romance."

"Romance _is_ likeable and no-sex _is_ disheartening," I said.

"I agree," she murmured; she stopped bouncing and tipped her head alluringly. The smile she gave me curled my toes.

I walked to her, my hands reaching out to take hold of whatever body part my fingers got to first. Somehow, they got tangled in her hair and the scent of it swirled out, making me dizzy – _God, just like in the fucking vampire books_ – because she smelled like hundred-year-old bourbon and sun-warmed honeysuckle, like every good and intoxicating thing in the universe.

"Good," I said, brushing my lips against hers, licking the part of her lips. She squeaked a little and pressed herself closer; I battered back my surging needs and focused on her.

I wanted this to be good for her; I knew it would be good for me.

I was easy like that.

Then she wiggled out of my arms.

"Gaila?"

She was halfway across the room, holding up a shaking hand. "You're good," she mumbled.

"Thanks."

"But Spock and Nyota and _Kelly_ would _kill _me," she continued.

"Why would Spock and Nyota kill you and who's Kelly?" I asked, trying to get my blood to flow northward.

It wasn't working.

She shook her head vigorously. "Irrelevant. You've seen my medical records, right?"

"Uhm."

"You know I'm of sound mind."

_And body._

_Oh God her body._

_And her mind._

_I want her for her mind, too._

_Definitely her mind._

_And her body._

_Definitely her body._

"So you can't call me crazy," she persisted.

That focused me. "Gaila, I'd _never_ call you crazy."

I'd married crazy; I'd lived with crazy; I'd divorced crazy's ass.

Gaila was _not _crazy.

She held up a hand. "And you can't laugh at me; promise me, Len: _no_ laughing."

"Honey, I'm not going to laugh."

"You might want to," she said. "Because I have something to tell you, and it _is_ kind of insane and it's definitely ridiculous, but _Oekon_ help me it's also true and I have to say it to you to get to the next step – and I really, really want to get to the next step - so here goes."

I could barely follow her – so I just waited.

She took a deep breath, "I have very strong feelings for you, Len –"

_Oh._

Almost every licentious thought flew out of my head.

She continued speaking, her voice quicker and higher than usual. "And not just the usual 'I want us to have insanely hot, universe-shattering sex' feelings – though I definitely have those for you too, because, well, you have the magnetic lips and the brown eyes and the doctor hands and you are absolutely adorable and that beard makes me weak in the knees and wet in the…."

She took a deep breath and pressed her palm to her forehead. "Okay, getting back on track. I'm crazy about you and I think that I could be," she faltered again and bit her lip so hard I worried that she'd draw blood, "in love with you." She stopped and perched her hands on her hips. "So?"

She looked defiant – like she thought I really _was_ going to laugh at her or call her crazy. I stared at her for several long moments, trying to find the words that were going to best describe the tangle of emotions in my gut - the ones that ran the gamut from blinding terror to…blinding terror, with joy and hope knotted stubbornly at the center.

"Gaila," I said, walking to her so I could pull at her hands and rub my thumbs over her wrists, "I have," I paused and looked in her eyes – let myself be grounded there, "feelings, too. For you. Feelings for you. I have feelings for you…;" and _holy shit, _it was completely true.

She blew out a breath and stared at me. "Okay, good. _That's_ done."

"What's done?" I was able to get out before she threw herself on me, her lips crashing into mine.

_Gentle touches, gentle touches, gentle touches._

"Whoa, whoa," I said, pulling my head back. "Slow down, darlin'."

She looked confused; I felt confused.

_Damn indoctrination._

I traced her face, followed the lines with my fingers just like I'd been following them with my eyes for weeks.

Her shoulders headed for her ears, the tension coming off her body in spirals.

"What?" I asked.

"But I told you and now I get to enjoy you," she said, her voice full of urgency. "It usually goes faster than this."

"Not with me. I like taking my time," I said, following the curls with the pads of my fingers.

_Like I was taught to._

"But the thrusting is the good part," she said, rubbing against me.

My fingers stilled. "But there's more than thrusting," I pointed out.

There was kissing and touching and licking and learning – and I really did love those parts.

Her eyebrows drew together.

I spoke into the breach. "Fast can be good, but slow is so, _so_ good. Why would you want any less than long, luxurious kisses, and slow, sweet licks – caresses that cover your entire body from top to bottom in one excruciatingly thorough movement? Slow, darling, is what I do best."

I followed the muscle at the side of her neck with my tongue and teeth until my lips were at the shell of her ear. "And you _will_ enjoy me, Gaila. I guarantee it."

She trembled.

I shifted my arms around her waist and picked her up enough that I could move us, get us into her bedroom.

I bumped a table and she made a squeak of protest. I released her and she fumbled to pick up a picture of a pretty, older Human woman and a pale, even older Human male – they were smiling widely.

"Who're they?" I asked, momentarily distracted by both the picture and her concern for it.

"Just a friend of mine – and her husband," she said, reaching for me again – and I didn't give a fuck who the couple was – I had Gaila in my arms and nothing and no one else mattered. I lifted her again and moved her, her feet dangling, into her sleeping alcove.

_Thank you, Lord. Thank you for making starship quarters so tiny – I can carry her to the bed without hobbling myself._

When the back of her legs hit the bed, she broke off the kiss and turned her head, looked down at the mattress, looked back at me and smiled wickedly. "Well, look where we are."

"Yep, "I said, tugging her shirt off and reaching around to undo her bra. "Here we are."

"So you've given up on the whole taking your time thing, right?"

"Nope," I said as I dragged her bra off; my fingers were tangled in the straps and my nails gently scratched the length of her arms. "I don't have anywhere to be – and neither do you." I pushed her skirt and panties down; the last stitch of clothing fell away from her body and I was finally able to see all of her – her sleek legs, her – Holy _God_ – completely shaved mound, the flare of her waist, her truly incredible breasts.

My eyes snapped to hers. "You are fucking incredible, Gaila."

"I know," she said.

Hot _damn_ her assurance was alluring.

My fingers flexed, my cock flexed. My heart flexed.

She put her hands on her hips and bounced.

I watched the movements and my brain seized.

She smiled wickedly. "Finally came around to my way of thinking, didntcha, Len?"

_Yes!_

Her _needs first. _Her _needs first._ Her _needs first._

_She wants it, Len. She wants it right now, right here. Give it to her._

Her _needs first. _Her _needs first._ Her _needs first._

I pulled myself together. "Nope," I said low and sultry because my voice was being swallowed by lust, and I started to pull at my own clothing blindly because I was wholly unable to look away from her.

Her hands reached out and I took a hasty step backwards. "I'll take my own clothes, off darlin'," I said; her not touching me was about the only thing keeping me in check.

That and the specter of my grandfather – switch in hand and ready to beat me senseless if I didn't do this right.

She put her hands on her hips and stared at me, watched me as I shucked my uniform, boots and socks.

Then we were naked, standing and staring at each other. I opened my arms to her and she fit herself into my embrace, turned her lips up towards me. I obliged her, taking control of the kiss.

The brush of her breasts on my chest as she breathed was maddening and I delved deeply into her mouth.

The delicious bite of her nails in the nape of my neck pulled me out of the haze created by her mouth.

I ended the kiss and stepped away from her, taking her small hand in my shaking one. I guided her to the bed, to her side, and settled myself beside her and took her mouth again – licking, touching and tasting. She made whimpering sounds, mewls of pleasure; I ran the fingers of one hand up and down the long, straight line of her spine. Eventually, I lightly fisted her hair, easing her head back so I could nip at her jaw and chin, flutter kisses across her cheeks and eyelids. I eased her onto her back, sparred a glance for her truly spectacular breasts, then looked at her face. Her eyes were still closed, her lips opened slightly. She was panting.

"Sweetheart?"

Her eyes fluttered open to reveal eyes as dark as pitch.

Guess she enjoyed that.

"More," she said between panting breaths.

"I told you to trust me," I said, my lips ghosting down. "I know very good things."

She said my name, a shattered sound.

I found one perfect red nipple, sucked at it, brushed it with my palm. The shattered sound wore on and her fingers wove into my hair, tugging and pulling – guiding me.

I let a hand drift down the plane of her torso, over the sleek, naked skin of her mound, and down to the soft slickness between her legs – to where she was wet and ready, fragrant and, I was sure of it, _delicious_.

She was whimpering by the time I rained kisses across her belly, moaning when I crested the gentle rise of her most feminine parts, and practically insensible when I gently parted her soft skin and took a taste.

Her fingers tightened in my hair and I held back tears of pain and focused on her.

She tasted wonderful – amazing – like nothing I had ever tasted – like something I wanted on my tongue everyday for the rest of my life.

I picked my head up and gazed up at her – her eyes popped open and she looked down at me, her eyes black with desire.

"Gllrg," she said.

"I do love how you taste," I announced, because I wanted her to know and because I did.

Really, really did.

"Gah!"

"Exactly," I said, stroking her skin and trying to decide if I wanted to watch her climax or wanted to be inside of her the first time she did it with me.

_McCoy sires, I think I've met her needs enough for the moment. I can take care of myself, too, right?_

There was no ghostly dissension, so I kissed my way back up to her lips and fit myself onto her.

Her hands migrated to my hair again and I stared into her face as I surged forward and took her, claimed her, joined with her.

Her breath erupted in an explosive gasp.

"You okay?" I asked, alarmed that my formidable – _very, very formidable - _size had shocked her.

She smiled, her eyes definitely stunned. "It's good," she said, "Really, really good. Len, good, good…"

The rest of what she was going to say was lost in keening as I began to move in earnest. I buried my face in her hair and let the smell of it, the sound of her, the feel of her envelop me completely.

She dug her nails into my back as she climaxed – the reality far better than the fantasy; I came explosively soon after.

"Wow," she whispered in my ear sometime later. "You were right."

I fell to my side and gathered her into me and fumbled for her sheets - silky and not at all regulation – and blankets to cover us. "I told you I knew things."

She nuzzled into my neck and I could barely hear her next words. "I guess Nyota was right, too."

"About what?" I asked, my eyes growing heavy; I wanted to burrow myself into her narrow bed with her solidly beside me; burrow and sleep. Then wake up and maybe try her way: hard, fast and urgent.

_For her._

She propped her chin on my chest and I forced my eyes open. "Feelings make it better," she said, as if she'd discovered cold fusion or the cure for cancer; I chuckled and tightened my hands on her skin.

"But I'll still want to use my toys from time to time," she announced.

_Dear Lord, I know that I am obstinate. I drink too much. I'm crotchety and mean and cantankerous. I've been an ass to Chris. And Spock. And that child, Topher. And Jim, even though he's deserved every single hypo. And that twit Feroce in Engineering who thinks he has brain cancer every time he stubs his toe, and… just about all of the idiots I've had to deal with on this damn ship._

_But Lord, I thank You for overlooking my flaws and deficiencies of character and bringing me a hot girlfriend who likes toys._

_Amen and hallelujah._

_**~~The Story Will Continue~~**_


End file.
